


The wind sails over the water's surface

by cruellae (tinkabelladk)



Series: You and I could end the world in fire or blood [2]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, duels, headcanons about the Masamune
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 18:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18155705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkabelladk/pseuds/cruellae
Summary: Genesis didn't really expect to defeat Sephiroth in their first duel. But the lock of silver hair that fluttered to the ground as their swords clashed was evidence that Sephiroth was not, in fact, perfect.It was the first time he had ever seen Sephiroth so utterly annoyed. It was a good look on him. It made him seem almost human.-In which Genesis takes something of Sephiroth's, and Sephiroth gets his revenge.-





	The wind sails over the water's surface

Genesis was walking through the jungle, the ground spongy beneath his feet, the air verdant and thick. All around him were the corpses of his enemies. He had slaughtered everything the simulation had thrown at him. It had been easy—almost too easy. There had to be something more.

 _There._ A shadow shifted on the ground, cast by something in the canopy. He dodged, then backflipped away as Sephiroth descended from the treetops, the Masamune slicing through the air where Genesis had just been.

“Is it really you?” he asked the silver haired figure stalking towards him like a hungry predator. “Or is this just a simulation?”

The corner of Sephiroth’s mouth quirked up slightly. “Do you know the name of this place?”

“Efir Glade,” Genesis said, stepping carefully in the thick moss. It was easily recognizable if you knew a little bit of the history of the Wutai War. “You killed a hundred soldiers by yourself before your reinforcements arrived.”

“Yes. A hundred rushed me all at once and they all died.” Again that smug, barely-there smile. “Do you think you stand a chance?”

Genesis held his sword at the ready, his eyes tracking the Masamune’s silver gleam, the placement of Sephiroth’s feet, and the angle of his grip. “Only one way to find out.”

The clash of sword on sword was satisfying, and it rang in the dark forest once, twice, three times before Sephiroth stopped his blade just a few millimeters short of thrusting through Genesis’s chest. He was good—better, even, then Genesis had thought. He was impossible to beat, for now. But the lock of silver hair that had fallen to the dirt was evidence that he was not, in fact, perfect.

Genesis picked it up and held it aloft, grinning. He was rewarded by a split second of pure annoyance on Sephiroth’s face before he schooled it into impassivity, tossing his still magnificent silver mane over his shoulder and signaling for them to end the simulation.

It took the Shinra brass less than half an hour to come back and tell Genesis and Angeal that they were both being promoted to SOLDIER First Class.

#

Genesis was less than thrilled with the aesthetics of his new living arrangements. They were as drab as any Shinra environment, utilitarian and utterly lacking in imagination. He was, however, very pleased to have his own space, which included a bedroom and a living area with a TV, bookshelves, and a couch, and a small kitchen.

It was quiet on the forty-seventh floor, with the majority of the apartments silent and empty. Apparently Shinra had overestimated how many people would make it to SOLIDER First Class. Still, despite the maze of hallways, they had been assigned rooms so that Angeal’s was three doors down from Genesis’s and Sephiroth was just across the hall.

Genesis still had that small lock of Sephiroth’s hair, which he’d discreetly pocketed after his trial, a little reminder that while Sephiroth might be indisputably the best, he was not untouchable.

“I think I should mount it on my wall, what do you think?” he asked Angeal that night, as they sat drinking beer in a room that belonged only to them, enjoying the kind of privacy they hadn’t had since they joined SOLDIER.

Angeal glanced dubiously at the lock of hair. “I think you should put it away.”

Genesis pouted. “Can’t you be proud of my accomplishment?”

“Cutting someone’s hair isn’t really an accomplishment,” Angeal said, deadpan as always. But then he relented, with a slight smile. “I guess it is probably more than anyone else has ever done.”

Genesis was about to gloat and maybe do a theatrical bow when a knock sounded at the door.

“I’ll get that,” Angeal said, with a stern glance at Genesis. “So put it away.”

Genesis tucked the lock of hair into the envelope where he’d been keeping it and set it on his desk while Angeal answered the door. It was Hollander, and he looked, as usual, like he was in need of a shower and a shave.

“Congratulations, boys,” he said, waving his arms dramatically. He set a bottle of expensive whiskey on the table and grinned at them. “I knew we could do it.”

 Genesis and Angeal shared a glance, but didn’t comment. Hollander had a way of speaking about their achievements as though he had a hand in them, beyond dosing them with the same mako any SOLDIER recruit would receive.

“You’re catching up to Sephiroth,” he said grandly. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Angeal said. He was better than Genesis at faking politeness, and it was better not to piss off the person who gave them mako injections.

“Hojo may have some bright ideas, but he’s mad as a fucking dog,” Hollander continued, rummaging in the cupboards until he found three glasses. He set them on the table harder than necessary. “Just look at how he treats his subject.”

“How he treats his subject?” Genesis asked, stepping closer as Hollander filled all three glasses with whiskey. “You mean Sephiroth?”

“Yes, Sephiroth, who else could I mean?” Hollander muttered, sounding annoyed. “Hojo’s methods are brilliant but I just know that boy is unstable because of them. I, on the other hand, have taken a much more measured approach.”

Genesis picked up the bottle of whiskey and filled each glass a little fuller, then handed one to Hollander. “To a measured approach,” he said, raising his. Angeal met his gaze as they clinked glasses together, and as always, they didn’t need to speak to communicate.

“Why would Sephiroth be unstable?” Angeal asked, pulling out a chair and sitting down. Hollander followed suit, sighing as he took his weight off his feet.

“Because Hojo ran too many experiments,” Hollander said. “He wanted to know everything from the psychological effects of his work to the genetic alterations it caused. And I respect that. I understand the desire for knowledge. But a child can only withstand so much poking and prodding before his mental equilibrium gets all fucked up.”

Genesis and Angeal both nodded, as though honored by such wisdom. And as usual, all it took was a nod and a look of interest to keep Hollander talking.

“Hojo was also obsessive about his experimental controls,” Hollander continued. “The subject must be in an environment that minimizes variables to get the most accurate results. However, keeping a child alone in an empty room will give you an end result with stunted emotional affect, just as it has done with Sephiroth. You add to that experiments to measure everything from his strength to his pain tolerance, his personality traits to his cognitive functions, and then dose everything with a large amount of mako and…” Hollander waved his arms. “You have a supersoldier who is someday soon going to either deteriorate or go mad. I would bet my life on it.”

“His pain tolerance…” Angeal said, slowly, exchanging another glance with Genesis.

Hollander shrugged. “His methods are as crude as you would expect from someone like Hojo.”

“But surely now that Sephiroth is an adult, Hojo’s not running any more experiments,” Genesis said.

“You’d think,” Hollander said, “but you would be wrong. Hojo was no fool. He knew how strong Sephiroth would become. From the very beginning, he conditioned obedience into Sephiroth’s mind. Sephiroth would no more turn on Hojo than he would skewer himself with that ridiculous sword. Hojo has to limit his experimentation now, because Shinra would be pissed if Sephiroth was ever less than perfectly fit for duty. But he still learns what he can.”

  After Hollander left, Angeal poured another dose of whiskey, and he and Genesis sat silently for a few minutes.

“Genesis,” Angeal finally said, looking into the amber pool of liquid. “Did we join the wrong side?”

It was so far from what Genesis had been thinking — _a child alone in an empty room_ — that he was puzzled for a moment. “We joined the winning side,” he said.

“That isn’t what I asked,” Angeal said.

Genesis didn’t have an answer for that.

#

“Is the cafeteria closed?” Sephiroth asked, frowning. He was puzzled by Angeal’s odd request.

“No, it’s fine,” Angeal said. “But I thought it would be nice to make dinner, and I have a place with a kitchen now just down the hall, so I thought…”

He trailed off, unhelpfully, and Sephiroth studied him, waiting for him to finish.

“I thought we could eat together,” Angeal finally said. “You know. We’re going to be working together, and I thought it would be good to get to know each other.”

“I don’t understand,” Sephiroth said. “Didn’t they give you my dossier? Do you have further questions?”

 “I just want to sit and have a conversation,” Angeal said patiently. “I made extra food thinking you would come. Just try it once, and if you hate it, you never have to do it again.”

Sephiroth hesitated, then nodded. He didn’t see what harm it could do, so he followed Angeal down the hall to his unit. Genesis was already inside, opening a bottle of wine. He smiled at Sephiroth, full lips and a flash of white teeth. For some reason, the gesture made Sephiroth feel slightly exhilarated.

He poured Sephiroth a glass without asking. It was good, rich and heady. Sephiroth hadn’t had wine in a long time, not since the formal Midwinter dinner President Shinra threw last year. When he drank, he usually chose something cheap and potent, as alcohol was chiefly a method for getting some sleep when all else failed, not something that was supposed to taste good.

Angeal and Genesis did most of the talking as they ate, the two of them falling into a comfortable, familiar rhythm. Sephiroth watched them, wondering what their connection was. They were childhood friends, he knew that much, but he had never known that friendship could be so intimate, so easy. He wondered if perhaps it was more.

He and Angeal did the dishes, while Genesis leaned against the refrigerator — very much in the way — and read Loveless to them. “I’m filling gaps in your education, Sephiroth,” he insisted.

As they moved around the small kitchen, Angeal seemed to be aware of Sephiroth’s mistrust of physical contact, and he was always graceful and subtle about staying out of the way, for which Sephiroth was grateful. Genesis, on the other hand, observed no such decorum, leaning into Sephiroth’s space to pour another glass of wine, brushing against him every time they crossed paths. It was strange, but not unpleasant. Genesis was enjoyable to look at, his full lips turned in a smile, sharp edges mellowed by wine.

“We should spar again sometime,” Sephiroth found himself saying. They had both been fun to fight, and Genesis had gotten closer than anyone else ever had, cutting off a lock of Sephiroth’s hair. “The two of you against me.”

He felt it had been the right decision to say this when Genesis lit up with a stunning grin. Angeal looked pleased as well.

“Tomorrow,” Genesis promised.

#

They sneaked into the training room in the late evening, after it was technically closed for the day. Sephiroth of course had the access codes. It seemed like he had access codes for everything, and in the back of his mind, Genesis wondered how that could be best put to use. The rest of his mind was occupied watching Sephiroth take off the long black coat he always wore. Beneath it, he was shirtless except for the straps of the uniform that went over his shoulders and crossed his chest. Genesis admired the view and wondered where he could get a leather coat like that, similarly imposing but maybe in red, instead of black.

He was about to ask where Sephiroth had gotten it when the simulation sprang to life. They were standing atop the cannon at Junon, the sunset light casting a mellow golden glow over everything. He could hear the soft sound of the ocean waves crashing onto the metal structure, smell the salt in the air, and feel the warmth of the sun on his skin.

“This is beautiful,” he said, softly.

“It’s just a simulation,” Sephiroth said, the Masamune materializing in his hand.

“So you really can summon it,” Angeal murmured, as awed as Genesis felt.

Sephiroth shrugged like he had done nothing particularly notable. “I learned to do it when I was a child.”

“You summoned a seven foot sword when you were a kid?” Angeal asked.

Sephiroth laughed. “Of course not. It started out appropriate for my size, and grew as I did.” He said it like it was perfectly normal to summon your weapon out of thin air, a weapon that grew up with you like a puppy given to a small child, twisting his grip so the long, slender blade flashed in the light of the dying sun.  He lifted it over his shoulder and grinned at them. “Shall we?”

With Angeal, the fight was a little bit more fair, which was to say it lasted a few minutes rather than a few seconds. Angeal and Genesis had been fighting together for so long that their teamwork was second nature, and Sephiroth clearly hadn’t been counting on the seamless way they complemented each other. But he adjusted quickly, driving them down the length of the Junon cannon. At one moment, Genesis felt the whisper of the Masamune so close to his neck that he could hear it cut through the air just below his ear.

Sephiroth ruthlessly disarmed them both and they yielded, panting and sweaty with exertion. Sephiroth himself looked like he hadn’t even broken a sweat. He bent down to pick something up off the surface of the cannon. It twinkled silver, and Genesis reached up and touched his left earlobe, where his silver earring should be. The wire was there, through his earlobe, but it had been cleanly cut just below the base of his ear. Two millimeters upward, and Sephiroth would have drawn blood. That blade of his must be wicked sharp.

“You’re kidding me,” Genesis groaned, picking himself up off of his knees. “You did that on purpose.”

Sephiroth smirked, dangling the earring from his fingers. It was obviously revenge for the lock of hair Genesis had taken, and Genesis was so impressed he didn’t even have it in him to be annoyed.

Angeal started laughing uncontrollably, his head leaned back, and yes, Genesis was a little miffed by that. But then Sephiroth smiled—a real smile, not a smirk or a quick turn of his lips—and that was almost worth it. Genesis wondered how many other people had seen an expression like that on Sephiroth. Not many, he was sure.

“It’s not that funny,” he said to Angeal, who wiped his eyes and apologized, still chuckling.

“If you want it back, you’ll have to earn it,” Sephiroth said.

“I will,” Genesis promised.

Genesis and Angeal walked back to their quarters together. After saying goodnight, Genesis doubled back to the training room. He wanted to watch the recording of their duel. He knew he was going to have to be clever if he ever wanted to defeat Sephiroth, but he also didn’t want anyone to know how hard he was trying. A victory was more impressive if it looked effortless.

The monitors outside the training room displayed what was happening within in full color. Genesis expected it to be dark and empty this time of night, but instead it was lit up with the vibrant colors of Junon at sunset. Sephiroth was sitting cross-legged on the edge of the cannon, watching the sunset. His pale skin was lit golden in the light, and it cast red fire in his hair. The Masamune was sitting across his lap, still and sinister.

Genesis took the little notebook he always carried with him out of his pocket and settled into a chair, watching the monitor while he wrote. The poem came fluidly this time, and he had filled several pages with verses half scratched out and annotated before the simulation flicked off and Sephiroth stood up in the barren industrial interior of the actual room.

Genesis tucked the notebook away to finish the poem later and slipped out of the room before Sephiroth could emerge.

**Author's Note:**

> I was never completely clear on how the training room worked in Crisis Core. Obviously materia had no effect, but swords seemed to? So I think this is more or less within canon, if you can accept the fact that Genesis was good enough to pull it off. Maybe Sephiroth completely underestimated him...
> 
>  
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> [Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19810399/chapters/46905682#workskin)


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